Chapter Seventeen: The Performance

Sophia's POV

The city glittered beneath us like a sky full of stars that had somehow fallen to the earth.

I rested my fingertips against the cool glass window, unable to look away. Tiny streams of headlights wound through the streets below, and the buildings rose proudly into the night, each one glowing against the darkness.

"I've never seen the city from this height before," I admitted quietly.

Ethan glanced at me before following my gaze. "You'll get used to it."

I smiled without looking at him. "I don't think I ever will."

The waitress returned with our menus and placed them gently on the table before pouring sparkling water into our glasses. The restaurant was unlike anywhere I had ever been. Crystal chandeliers reflected soft golden light across polished marble floors. A pianist played quietly in one corner, while elegantly dressed couples spoke in hushed voices around us. It felt less like a restaurant and more like another world.

I opened the menu. Then almost closed it again. The first dish cost nearly what I spent on groceries for two weeks.

Ethan noticed the expression on my face. "Order whatever you want."

I looked up. "You say that as though money grows on trees."

"It doesn't."

"It grows in your bank account."

For the first time that evening, the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.

"I suppose it does."

I shook my head.

"I'll let you order."

"You trust my taste?"

"I trust that you won't poison me."

"I wasn't planning to."

"That's comforting."

The waitress returned, and Ethan ordered dinner with effortless confidence. I didn't understand half the names he mentioned.

When she disappeared again, silence settled comfortably between us. It wasn't awkward. It simply... existed.

"So," I said eventually, folding my hands together. "Was tonight actually about dinner?" His eyes met mine.

"No."

"I thought so."

"It was about being seen."

"I knew it."

"You agreed to a contract."

"I agreed to marry you," I corrected. "Not become entertainment for the entire city."

His expression remained calm. "They're not the same thing."

"They feel the same."

"They aren't."

I leaned back in my chair. "You really could have warned me."

"I could have."

"And?"

"You'd have spent the entire evening nervous."

"I am nervous."

"But you still came."

I sighed. "I don't know whether you're incredibly confident or unbelievably annoying."

"I've been called both."

"I believe it."

The food arrived before either of us spoke again. The dishes looked almost too beautiful to touch. I picked up my fork carefully.

"This is the smallest steak I've ever seen." "It tastes better than it looks." "It wants to."

He actually laughed. A quiet, genuine laugh.

I stared at him. "What?"

"You laughed."

"So?"

"I wasn't sure you knew how."

His expression flattened again. "I regret it already." I couldn't help smiling.

Dinner continued more naturally after that. We talked about work. About travel. About books. I was surprised to learn Ethan enjoyed reading history. He looked equally surprised when I admitted I loved old romance novels.

"You?" he asked.

"Why do you sound so shocked?"

"You don't seem like the romantic type."

I frowned. "What exactly do I seem like?"

"A woman who works herself to exhaustion."

"That's because I do."

He studied me for a long moment. "You should stop."

I laughed. "Easy for a billionaire to say."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. For a second, neither of us spoke. I looked away first. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. If anything… It was dangerous. Because every minute I spent with Ethan Blackwell made it harder to remember that everything between us was fake. Our engagement. Our future. Our smiles. Every single thing. Only the contract was real.

When dinner ended, Ethan stood and pulled my chair back before I could.

I blinked. "You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"You've never done it before."

"I know."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're acting suspiciously nice."

"I'm acting like your fiancé."

"That's frightening."

He ignored the comment. "We should leave."

Outside, the cool evening breeze greeted us. The city was alive. Luxury cars lined the street. Couples laughed as they walked past. Music drifted from nearby rooftop bars.

For one brief moment, it almost felt like we really were on a date. Not because of the contract. But because neither of us was thinking about it. Until I broke the silence.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why me?"

He slowed his pace. "I already told you."

"No." "You said you trusted me."

"I do."

"That's different."

He stopped walking completely. People moved around us without paying attention.

"I chose you because I know exactly who you are."

"You barely know me."

"I know enough."

"You know the version that works for you."

His jaw tightened. "I know you stayed late every night without asking for overtime." I looked away. "I know you've never lied to me." Silence. "I know you care about people more than yourself."bMy chest tightened. "And I know," he continued quietly, "that if I'd chosen someone else, this arrangement would've become a circus."

I folded my arms. "So I'm convenient."

"No."

"Then what?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he started walking again. I hurried after him.

"That's it?"

"What more do you want?"

"The truth."

"I already gave it to you."

"No, you gave me the CEO version."

He stopped again. "Sophia."

"What?"

"You argue too much."

I gasped dramatically. "I argue?"

"Yes."

"You've been ordering me around since the day I started working for you."

"Someone had to."

"Oh, unbelievable."

I turned as if to walk away. He caught my wrist before I could take two steps. I looked down at his hand. Then back at him.

"You really don't know how to apologize, do you?"

"I wasn't apologizing."

"I noticed." "You were walking away."

"I was proving a point."

"And what point was that?"

"That you're impossible."

A smile tugged at his lips. "You came back."

"Because you grabbed me."

"Exactly."

Before I could think of another reply, voices suddenly erupted from across the street.

"Mr. Blackwell!"b"Cameras over here!"b"Is that your fiancée?"

Everything happened at once. Photographers rushed toward us from every direction. Bright flashes exploded in the night. Questions overlapped until I couldn't distinguish one from another.

"Ethan!" "They're here," he said calmly.

"You knew this would happen!"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I needed your reaction to look genuine."

I stared at him. "You used me."

"I protected the contract."

"They're not the same thing!"

"They are tonight."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"I can't believe you."

"You don't have to."

The photographers moved closer. Microphones stretched toward us. Another flash lit up the street.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Instinctively, I stepped backward. My feet ached from the heels. My shoulders felt heavy after the longest week of my life. I was simply tired. Too tired to argue anymore. Too tired to smile. Too tired to pretend.

Without warning, Ethan slipped an arm firmly around my waist and pulled me against his side.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"They're watching."

"They're always watching."

"Then give them something worth photographing."

"I don't like this."

"I know."

His hand remained securely around my waist as he guided me toward the waiting Mercedes. The cameras followed every step.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The chauffeur opened the rear door. I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell Ethan to let go. Instead, exhaustion won. I didn't have the strength to argue again.

With one gentle movement, Ethan helped me into the back seat before climbing in beside me.

The door closed behind us. Outside, camera flashes continued to light up the windows.

Click.

Click.

Click.

By tomorrow morning, the entire city would believe the performance. And somehow… We had almost believed it too.